As tight as I seal them

As tight as I seal them, water still slips through my hands
I wish I could hold on for the stretch
of my bones stacked up, interrupting a sun beam
When I wake up in the grass, my face wet with dew
I should have been more grateful for the sun
but now I ache because it’s far out of reach

I still never stop trying to reach
but I’m always disappointed by my empty hands
I’ve never been a very good son
and even though it might be a bit of a stretch
I thought I did all I could do
still, I’m stuck in the absence of a beam

I knew a time when my mother would beam
with serenity upon seeing the morning dew
stick to each petal, but when I would reach
for the stems she eyed my hands
in horror. I can feel the familiar stretch
of her touch, stopping her son

She recognized the gravity of the sun
and its fruits, what it labored with each beam
How did the blades of grass stretch
with the wind? I wanted to reach
and pluck. To think of the carnage my hands
were capable of, something I could do

When my eyes reopen my skin is painted with dew
and I can see that even though I am her son
I was not man and my hands
were crafted from that very same beam
She tries to shield me but I’m just out of reach
It happens so quickly, I can still feel the stretch

of my spine, uprooted, unearthed, I stretch
for her hand, she thought she did all she could do
Out here I am so hard to reach
She always reminded me to give thanks to the sun
I felt warmth and comfort in that beam
even as I fell victim between two hands

To blame their hands would be a stretch
I was loved in a beam of light, a drop of dew
Her fruitful son that I would never reach